The Heart Changes The Man
by ParisWriter
Summary: Zevran is forced to deal with his emotions and some of his more recent scars after he spends the night with Sylvanas and she questions him about love. (Zevran/F!Mahariel)


Author's Note: For the purposes of this story, I have chosen to use Italian for the Antivan language.

* * *

**The Heart Changes the Man**

Zevran let out a satisfied groan and pulled Sylvanas' body closer to his own, delighting in the feel of her skin against his as he tangled his fingers in her long, loose curls. He shivered a bit at the sensation of her delicate, slightly calloused hands tentatively running over his chest.

"Cara, you need not be so nervous, anymore," he purred, learning over to gently bite her ear before flicking his tongue against the side of her neck. She drew in a sharp gasp, and he repeated the action, savoring the taste of their combined sweat.

"How are you feeling, by the way?" he asked, pulling back and brushing her hair away from her face in order to look into her green eyes which so reminded him of the leaves of the trees in Antiva City during the summer. "I did not hurt you, I hope?"

"No, I... I'm fine," she assured him, a blush rivaling the color of her deep mahogany hair rising in her cheeks as she fixed her eyes upon his chest once more.

"Then what is troubling you?" Zevran wondered, tracing her spine with one hand and molding her body against his. He still found the fact that she was such a marvelous fit against him an absolute wonder. Maker, but he doubted he would ever get enough of having this little Dalish vixen in his bed.

"It's nothing," Sylvanas told him, tucking her head under his chin and tightening her arms around his waist.

"My dear Warden, you must learn to lie better if you ever wish to be a successful assassin," Zevran admonished her, chuckling a bit. "I can tell you are not being honest simply by the tone of your voice."

"I was just... wondering something, that's all," she admitted, snuggling closer to him, her grip tightening on him even more. It was almost as though she was afraid he might blow away into the night if she didn't keep him firmly in her grasp.

"Cara, talk to me. Please," Zevran requested, tucking his hand under her chin and tilting her head upward so she would look at him. He stared at her expectantly, but she kept her eyes closed. After a moment, she took a shaky breath and spoke.

"What now?" she asked him, her voice barely more than a whisper, and Zevran was taken aback when she finally opened her eyes and he saw tears shimmering in them.

"Now?" he echoed, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. "Well, I was raised to take my pleasures where they could be found. I shall ask no more of you than you are willing to give."

"And... what about... love?"

Zevran suddenly pulled away from her and sat up, no longer able to look into her eyes. She slowly pulled herself into a sitting position next to him, and he could tell from her shallow, hiccuping breaths that she was doing everything in her power to keep from crying.

"I was born of a whore and bred an assassin," he told her, keeping his face turned away from her, each word coming out with a bitter edge to it. "All I know is of pleasure and death. What room is there in these things for love?"

"Zevran," she said his name, gently grasping his shoulder and trying to get him to look at her once more.

"I should go."

He shrugged her off and got up in preparation to leave. He gathered his armor and daggers, then quickly got out of her tent in order to put as much distance between them as fast as he could.

* * *

"What did you do to her?"

Zevran looked up from the dagger he had been sharpening and found himself being glared at by Leliana, her arms crossed over her chest.

"What did I do to who, now?" he asked, genuinely confused.

"Sylvanas," Leliana clarified. "What did you do to Sylvanas?"

Zevran sighed and went back to sharpening his favorite weapon, his eyes fixed on the blade so he wouldn't have to continue looking into the accusing stare of the Orlesian bard.

"I did nothing she did not consent to, if that's what you are thinking," he answered after a moment, his tone more harsh than usual.

"You expect me to believe that? She was _crying_ last night, Zevran. And I saw you rush out of her tent, naked, carrying your clothes – like some sort of criminal trying to get away from his crime before someone else notices him."

"We made love," Zevran insisted, tossing aside the dagger angrily before turning his own glare upon her. "_Do not_ ever accuse me of forcing a woman into my bed. I may be a lot of things, but a rapist is not one of them."

"Then why was she crying?"

"Because she foolishly believed that us having sex meant something," Zevran spat, his accent becoming increasingly thick with each word he spoke.

"She's_ Dalish_, Zevran!" Leliana reminded him. "It _does_ mean something, to them. Apparently, you didn't know that or you never would have touched her in the first place."

"What are you talking about?" Zevran demanded, his patience running thin. Leliana took a deep breath to reign in her own temper so she didn't kill him for being an oblivious lech.

"The Dalish mate for life," she calmly explained after a moment. "Once they have chosen a partner, that is the person they will spend the rest of their days with. And after they wed, the husband and wife give themselves to one another as a symbol of their love and devotion to each other. They call it 'bonding.'"

Zevran suddenly felt like a fool. Sylvanas had spoken of this 'bonding' when talking about her friend, Tamlen, who had disappeared after they found some sort of cursed mirror together in a ruin.

"I... see..." he muttered, his anger fading into self-loathing. Because of him, Sylvanas would not be pure for her future husband. It was likely something any clan of Dalish would not look fondly upon.

"I think I need to be alone," he added after a brief pause, bending down to grab his daggers before heading off into the nearby words surrounding their camp.

He walked for several minutes until he finally came to a clearing, then tossed his daggers onto a patch of green which was equal parts grass and moss and laid down with a sigh. He tucked his hands behind his head as he closed his eyes and attempted not to think of her, but all he could see in his mind was her face.

He'd noticed her beauty the very moment he first laid eyes on her – with her fair skin, fiery curls pulled high atop her head, and piercing green eyes – and he recalled thinking that it was going to be a shame for her to die because she was such a magnificent creature. Then, as luck would have it, she not only defeated him but decided to spare his life. He swore an oath of loyalty to her in return as much for her mercy and her ability to protect him as for his hope that he would one day get to bed her.

The months that followed their initial meeting had been pure torture for him, especially after she came to him and asked him to help her train in melee combat in exchange for her assisting him in refining his archery skills. He had been all too happy to oblige, and savored each and every moment he had alone with her while they trained together. He delighted in watching her lithe, lean body mimic the movements he showed her, and each time he had placed his hands upon her to correct her posture or stance her breath would hitch ever so slightly in a way which only served to arouse him further.

Their first kiss had been in the heat of the moment, during a practice duel she requested herself. She had merely wished to test her skills against him, but he'd seen it as a perfect opportunity to get intimately closer to her in the guise of catching her in a hold. Surprisingly, she'd managed to read him better than he though and _she_ was the one who bested_ him_ in the end. As a reward, he'd threaded his fingers into her hair and guided her lips to his in a rough, passionate kiss which had left him with his head spinning when she pulled away.

She kept her distance for several days after that, and when he finally decided it was best if he apologized to her – lest she decide to kill him – she confided in him about her lost friend, the boy she had fallen in love with as they grew up together. He'd felt nothing but sympathy for her, as his own feelings of loss were still raw in his heart. He offered to leave her alone at that point, but she surprised him yet again by saying perhaps it was time she moved on... and then she had kissed him.

Zevran reached up and smacked himself in the forehead, cursing in his native tongue. He should have _known_ she was looking for more than someone to merely share her bed when she basically said she wanted to move on with him. His lust for her had clouded his judgment, however, and now he was stuck in a place he did_ not_ want to be. He knew he needed to make things right with her, but a very large part of him also knew that they would never be right again. He couldn't take back what he'd said, couldn't erase what they'd done, couldn't give her back her innocence that he had so eagerly taken without thinking about the consequences. Even so, he also couldn't deny that their lovemaking had been the most wonderful experience in his life.

The sound of a soft _thunk_ traveled to his ears from nearby, followed by another, and Zevran was suddenly in full alert mode. Grabbing up his daggers off the ground next to him, he rolled over and up into a low, crouching position and followed the continuous, rhythmic sound to its source.

Sylvanas was shooting arrows into one of the trees, something he had discovered she often did whenever she was troubled. It hurt him deeply to know that_ he _was the cause of her troubles, and that in itself frightened him. Love was not something an assassin could afford. He had lived just fine by that creed until Rinna had come along and stolen his heart. Then she died and he went back to his old ways and ended up hurting the one person who hadn't treated him like some sort of expendable commodity. All because he refused to open his heart to another for fear of being hurt, again.

Truth be told, he hated himself for what he had done to her – possibly even moreso than for what he had done to his poor Rinna.

He knew he owed her an apology for what he had done. Perhaps he would never be able to salvage their friendship, but he could at least try. And if she decided to cast him away and let him fend for himself until the Crows finally found and finished him, well... He would accept that.

A scream from the direction of camp caused both of them to turn toward the sound, and she finally caught sight of him watching her. She looked at him briefly, her eyes full of hurt and pain, then took off at a dead run back toward the others. Zevran quickly pulled himself to his feet and followed her, then gasped when he saw why there had been screaming: at least a dozen shrieks had swarmed the camp site, and everyone was brandishing weapons to fight them off – except for Bodahn and his son, who were hiding in the back of their cart under a pile of furs.

Zevran immediately sprang into action, leaping at the nearest shriek and plunging both daggers into the creature's back. He jumped from one to the next until he finally made his way to Sylvanas' side, then covered her back while she shot arrows at the creature her wolf and mabari were attacking. The fighting went on for several minutes, and when it was finally over he was left feeling exhilarated.

"Nothing to brighten your mood like a good battle, yes?" he asked Sylvanas, but when he turned around he found she was no longer behind him. His golden eyes scanned the area, but all he saw were the others righting things that had been knocked over and checking each of the shrieks to be sure they were truly dead.

"Alistair, where is Sylvanas?" he asked, catching the warrior's arm as he passed by.

"I thought she was fighting with you?" Alistair questioned in reply, his eyes going wide with worry upon realizing that she wasn't with them.

Panic started to grip Zevran, and he wildly looked around for any sign of her. If he lost her... He could feel his heart sinking at the very notion. He could not... He _would not_ let the Maker take the woman he cherished away from him. Not again.

After a moment, he finally spotted her at the edge of the woods – only she wasn't alone. One of the creatures he'd noticed out of the corner of his eye when he arrived back at camp was standing before her... and she was walking right to it.

"Sylvanas!" he called her name, then ran as fast as he could to get to her before it was too late.

_Please, not again... I beg of you_, he thought as he rushed to reach her, hearing the clanking of Alistair's metal armor not far behind him. _I was a fool to try to close my heart to her. I swear, I will give her all the love in the world. Just don't take her from me now._

Zevran reached her just as the creature lunged forward to attack, and he swung out one of his arms to push her away before plunging the blade of his dagger into its chest to the hilt.

"Always... loved you... lethalan..." it gasped before falling dead at his feet.

"Tamlen..." he heard Sylvanas say in a choked whisper behind him, and Zevran found tears streaming down her face when he looked at her. He glanced down at the creature he had killed, and everything made sense. This was what had become of her childhood friend, her love who had disappeared. He'd been twisted into a dark creature, but even so her heart would not allow her to strike out against him – just as he had been unable to strike out at Rinna for her supposed betrayal.

"Cara," he said, turning and pulling her into his arms. He kissed her hair – deeply breathing in the familiar scent of the forest that was undeniably her – and held her close, allowing her to cry against his chest as he gently rocked her. "I'm so sorry. I did not know."

"Death was a mercy," Alistair said next to them. "The taint was too far gone in him. There's nothing we could have done to save him. I'm truly sorry, Sylvanas."

Unable to speak in her grief, she merely nodded her head and clung tighter to Zevran. Alistair gave him a grim look before picking up Tamlen's body to put on the burning pile with the other shrieks' corpses.

"This camp's no longer safe," he told them. "We should move on... But I'll give you two a few minutes."

"Thank you, my friend," Zevran said, then returned his attention to comforting the woman in his arms. She was mumbling something against his chest, and it took him a moment to realize she was speaking elvish – perhaps some sort of Dalish prayer for the departed.

"Will you be okay, cara?" he asked her after she quieted. "Alistair wishes us to move on at our earliest convenience."

"I'll be fine," she assured him, pulling away from his embrace and wiping her tears away with her hands. She still refused to look at him, however, so he gently grasped her face between his hands and forced her to meet his eyes.

"I am not a good man, Sylvanas," he said, his voice unusually quiet and unsure. "I've done many,_ many_ things in my past which I am not proud of. I do not know if I can guarantee you a future. But this is what I_ do _know: just now, I thought I had lost you... and I did not like the way that made me feel.

"Ti amo, cara mia," he told her, tucking a loose curl behind her ear.

"What does that mean?" she asked him, her eyes searching his.

"It means I swear to be there for you, whenever you should need me," he promised, "and I will remain at your side for however long you like."

She simply stepped forward and pressed her lips to his, and Zevran kissed her back as he linked his fingers through hers. It was a moment full of promise for both of them. He wanted to be a better man for her, and as he lost himself in the swimming sensation her kiss always brought him he knew she was the only one he ever wanted to lose himself in for the rest of his days.

* * *

Translations:  
Cara - dearest, beloved, darling  
Ti amo, cara mia. - I love you, my dear.


End file.
